Swift Steps
by A Hufflepuffed Took
Summary: An illegible letter about werewolves, Vault number seven-eleven, a new Order member, and a better summary once more is written! PG13 for language and some snoggage. BillFleur.
1. Mistranslations

Chapter One  
  
She took her time as she dipped her quill into her purple inkwell. Purple was her signature colour. She, also, didn't rush as she formed every letter near-perfect on the piece of yellow parchment. About twenty minutes later, a signature was formed and she took it up to her green eyes to read it, as her glasses were somewhere else. She couldn't quite remember.  
  
The letter was addressed to a Mister Remus Lupin, the only one the woman suspected she could entrust to relieve her of her tenseness this evening, as she sat shivering in an inn of Bulgaria's coldest climates. She had missed the Order's meeting for an evening of stressful mistranslations.  
  
"Swamp!" She heard the call of her last name, in a rather angry tone at that. She cringed and looked to her letter, stuffing it into the depths of her massive black robes. She rubbed her pale and sickly eyes.  
  
"Yeess?" She moaned, arising from her desk and tiredly staggering over to the wooden door.  
  
The door swung open before she had even the slightest chance to reach for the knob. Luckily, it swung away from her. An angry figure, dressed in a dark, threatening green robes, his black hair falling over his tanned skin and bulging, fierce brown eyes.  
  
"You're such a bitch!" He raged. "You're the best the Ministry has to offer in Bulgarian translations!? You practically got us kicked out of the country. You said that the Bulgarian Head of Muggle Relations was an embarrassment to their country!"  
  
"Aw, fuck, don't get on my case, Sherman. I really don't want to deal with your crap. I'm fucking tired and don't want to deal with this now." She said drowsily, shutting the door in his face.  
  
A loud crack erupted through the room knocking the magenta-haired woman off her guard. Sherman pushed her onto the bed.  
  
"I am not going you take your crap, Cerasus Swamp, and don't ignore me, either. You have gotten us in trouble with the Bulgarian Ministry for the last time!" He shouted, towering over her.  
  
"You know I'm not the Bulgarian counterpart. I don't want to be here. The Bulgarian counterpart of the Department of International Relations just happened to be bitten by an illegal pet she had obtained, small dragon I think, and I was the only one in the Ministry who knew decent Bulgarian. I know fluent Welsh, thus dealing with all of our Welsh-speaking wizards and forwarding their problems all over the Ministry and appearing as a translator anytime they need me. I'm the Ministry's Welsh-speaking bitch. Not yours, Sherman."  
  
Sherman gave her an irritable look before turning his heels and heading out the door, not bothering to slam it.  
  
"Bastard." Murmured the witch irritably under her breath, running her hand down her face. "Heard you!" Came a bounding cry from down the hall.  
  
"Fuck off." She replied, retrieving the letter from inside of her robes. She held it close to her face and read:  
  
RL, Stuck in Bulgaria. Cold. Snowy. Annoyed for two reasons. Edgar Sherman won't leave me alone about mistranslation and missed meeting. Leaving tomorrow. Meet me at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow at one o'clock and fill me in. Shit. Too tired. Wish I was there. Much love, CS  
  
"Good enough." She sighed, getting up and looking about for Al, her owl.  
  
"Aw, fuck, Al, just take this to Remus." She muttered, rolling the parchment up and tying it to the common barn owl's leg. She fumbled a few times, but once it was finally secured, she blew her owl a kiss and sent her off into the night.  
  
And that followed by collapsing upon her bed into immediate sleep.  
  
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Remus Lupin awoke suddenly to the sound of tapping on the guest room window of Number Twelve Grimuald Place. He rolled out of bed, half-surprised when he saw an owl there, pecking away at the glass.  
  
"Honestly," He grumbled, running his hands through his hair, which stuck up rather oddly and almost untameably. He unlatched the lock and slid it open, the owl trotted in happily.  
  
Lupin untied the satin ribbon and smiled, knowing Al, and knowing that Cerasus Swamp had sent him a letter to explain her absence in the previous day's meeting. He unscrolled it and read it, taking it with him on his way downstairs to eat breakfast with the Weasley children and Sirius.  
  
"What's that?" asked Ginny, quite chipper, as she took a small sip of tea.  
  
"Letter." Remus said simply, taking a seat beside Hermione.  
  
"From who?" Ginny continued, with quite interest.  
  
"Cerasus Swamp." Lupin said with the most simplicity.  
  
"Ooh, Swamp, eh?" Came the singing voice of Sirius, walking into the Dining room with a platter of sausage and eggs. "You've been writing to her quite a bit. 'Veryone thinks you two have had an affair."  
  
Lupin nearly dropped the pitcher of orange juice. "Sirius, please tell me you're kidding."  
  
"Nope." Chuckled Sirius. "It's quite apparent you fancy her. Don't you deny it."  
  
"Sirius. Even if I did fancy her, she's too young. I mean, she's what? Twenty-five? She's ten years my minor. Can't two just be friends?" Lupin said, quite irritably.  
  
"Look at Mum and Da--" Came the happy voice of George, but before he got too far, Mrs. Weasley had hit him upon the head. George had snatched the letter out of Remus' lazy grasp and scanned it over wwith his eyes.  
  
"Wow, that Swamp woman swears more than Sirius. So, you going to meet her? Is it a date?" Teased George; Sirius frowned.  
  
"That's not one of her greatest assets.." Murmured Lupin. "And, yes, yes. I'm meeting Cerasus at one.."  
  
"It's quarter of twelve. What have you planned to do before you meet her?"  
  
"Quarter of twelve? Shit! I have an interview at noon!" Lupin dissapperated with a swift crack.  
  
"I believe he's picked up the habit." Blinked George, still holding the parchment.  
  
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"Honestly, why do I even bother with this crap?" Cerasus said irritably, thrusting the eyeliner pencil onto the sink, watching it crack in half for about the fifth tine in the past couple days. The ringing voice of her ignorant colleague rang through.  
  
"'Cause you'd look like shit if you didn't bother!"  
  
"Fuck off!" Shouted Cerasus, hurdling a compact in his direction. It came no where near to hitting him, noting her wonderful hand-eye coordination.  
  
"Where are you going anyway?" Asked Sherman, popping his head into the bathroom. "You're going somewhere. You never wear make up to translate papers."  
  
"I'm leaving this afternoon and never returning, Sherman. I've put up with your crap long enough, and was owled by the Ministry in the middle of the night to be informed that that Prudence Mitchell was emitted from Mungo's and will take my place tomorrow." Said the witch happily, repairing the compact powder and eyeliner pencil with the wave of her wand. "I'm having lunch with a friend at one. My bags are packed."  
  
"Who's the friend? That bloody werewolf?" Scoffed Sherman, tossing his head back in triumph.  
  
"Yes. I'm meeting Remus in Hogsmeade at one. I'm leaving now."  
  
"You'd better! It's nearly one now, and you wouldn't want to keep your werewolf waiting. Behave!"  
  
Before Ceracus could think up some witty comment to run by the horrible man, she apparated with her bags out of the cold, damp, Bulgarian tavern.  
  
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The Three Broomsticks is a place where one would expect to see the queerest of folk chatting away with one another. Today was no exception, every seat in the quaint, three-roomed bar filled to the brim save for one beside an oddly-clad witch nearing the end of the bar.  
  
A loud crack of apparation erupted just beside the witch. However, none of the cheer was sacrificed to heed the shabbily-dressed man with greying blonde hair that appeared.  
  
"You're late." Spat Cerasus, her broadly-brimmed witch hat flopping over most of her face. "What part of meet-me-at-the-Three-Broomsticks-at-one- o'clock did you not understand?"  
  
"Sorry, Cera. Interview. Why were you in Bulgaria?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat down beside her.  
  
"Stupid Ministry assignment. I had to translate papers having to do with Muggle Relations in Bulgaria. No idea why they needed 'em, but nonetheless, I had to do live translations for Sherman. Kept accidentally confusing words and then blaming them on Sherman."  
  
Lupin blinked. "You devil. I can't believe you'd do that." He gave a sly smile before flagging over a barmaid and ordering a goblet of pumpkin juice. Cerasus sipped idly at her firewhiskey.  
  
"What happened at Twelve?" She asked, referring to Number Twelve Grimmuald Place.  
  
"Snape gave a lengthy, boring lecture that nearly had the place in a slumber, and Shacklebolt went on about Black moving into Russia. Weasley mentioned a ferw things that he saw on Duty, and.. That's about it."  
  
"Sounds.. fun.." Coughed Cerasus, sipping more of her bright red drink. "Damn. This stuff is awful."  
  
"That's why I got pumpkin juice." Muttered Remus.  
  
"It doesn't taste as good when you're sober." She commented, swirling it around with her straw. "Anyway, what was your interview?" She blinked.  
  
"It was at some Muggle department store." He said sheepishly, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Ooh. Which one? Bloomingdales?" She said, blinking with interest.  
  
"It's called Barton's. It's some ten kilometers from London. I can apparate there every day at ten o'clock and leave by seven. Of course I have off on full moons. I can exchange the dollars and cents I get at Gringott's. It'll work out pretty well. Better than most with my condition." He said with fake-happiness. Something Cerasus could tell.  
  
"Aw, fuck, Remus. You can't fucking fool me. You're fucking miserable." She said, narrowing her eyes.  
  
"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine, Cerasus."  
  
"You sure?" She said, giving him a watery-eyed, innocent look.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Well, then. No worries there." She said, sticking her tounge out at Remus.  
  
"Oh, and one more thing." Remus added. "The whole bloody Order thinks we're having an affair." He said hastily with tension and anger in his voice.  
  
"What the fuck, Remus?" Burst out Cerasus, looking to her neighbor with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Stop fucking with me."  
  
"I'm not kidding." Remus said. "Sirius told me. They've suspected so ever since we started owling each other a year ago."  
  
"Well, no offense or anything, but you're a little too old for me--"  
  
"Exactly what I said."  
  
"And we tried that before, and it didn't work." She said, her voice filled with concern.  
  
"Why can't we just be friends?" They both sighed concurrently.  
  
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Author's Note: This is my first REAL fanfiction that I want to finish. I'm not quite sure where I'm going with it, but the next chapter's in the making. Look forward to two more main characters: Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour. Review. For me? I'll appreciate anything. 3 BH 


	2. Darkmark Watermark

Gringott's Bank had been in the wizarding world as long as anyone could remember. It stood firmly, base to all of Diagon Alley, and had unmistakably beautiful archetecture designed very skillfully. It seemed to almost collide Anchient Rome with Medieval England, having collumns and arches, white marble and stained glass. It seemed to leave all who first set eyes upon it in awe. All who didn't see it from day to day.  
  
Bill Weasley strode through the Great Hall of Gringotts as if he were walking through the lobby of some second-rate office building. His flamboyant, telltale red hair was tamed back in a low ponytail, and the talon of some beast dangled from his ear. He was due to meet the famed Fleur Delacour to go through the winding array of underground paths with random deposits and withdraws that had been sent by mail to the bank.  
  
He took a door labeled in the fancy writing of 'Staff Only,' and took a staircase of regal quality that wound down to a hall of small offices. Heading down that hallway, he paused at the third door to the left. The door was wide open to let in an occasional summer breeze.  
  
"Hey." He stated, popping his head inside the doorway to spot a frusterated young woman with silver white hair, pulled away from her beautiful face with two sticks. Spectacles were upon the tip of her nose as she looked up with a sigh of relief.  
  
"Oh, Bill, I was wondering when 'oo'd arrive!" She exclaimed breathlessly through her French accent, seeming to get up from her seat and float over to Bill. She wore a short, black skirt, a white blouse, and a lavender, button-up cardigan. "Before we go, can 'oo 'elp my with some of 'zis 'Eenglish?" Her long eyelashes batted.  
  
"Oh, of course, Fleur." Bill said as Fleur Delacour grabbed his arm and dragged him over to her humble oak desk.  
  
"What does 'zis mean, Bill?" She said, extending a slender finger and pointing over a piece of parchment. Bill Weasley leaned over to see the paper. Unable to comprehend what it was saying, he brought it up to his face to study the words more carefully. The document was written in green ink, and with the summer afternoon's light shining through, Bill could see the Darkmark as the watermark.  
  
"What the f--" He paused himself, careful not to curse in front of Fleur. He had quite an interest sparked in the young French girl, and didn't want to ruin his chances by making a rude, unnecessary remark. "Nothing I recognize but 'werewolf.' We have to get it to Dumbledore immediately."  
  
Fleur bore a confused expression upon her face. "Why Dumbledore?" She asked, skeptically. "He's a crazy one, 'oo know."  
  
"Fleur," Bill looked her in the eye with a serious look upon his face. Something that he didn't usually wear. "This letter is from a Death Eater, on of You-Know-Who's followers. Do you know what the Order of the Phoenix is?" Fleur shook her head. "Well, you're going to find out."  
  
Bill took to the halls, Fleur following behind him. "Where are 'oo going, Bill?" She called, trying to catch up to him in her uncomfortable heels.  
  
"The owlery." He said, pausing for her at the top of the steps. They emerged from the 'Staff Only' section and stepped lightly through the Great Hall of Gringotts and out to the humid summer air of Diagon Alley.  
  
Upon reaching the Owlery, Bill found an owl that looked like it was up for the journey. It was a small screech owl. One native to the area and fairly common. He handed the man at the counter a knut for its services.  
  
"Do you have a quill and parchment?" He asked the man, keeping note that the parchment was secured in his pocket. The man nodded to a bottle of ink beside him with a quill dipped inside. He waved his wand and a piece of parchment appeared in front of Bill. Bill scribbled a note that read:  
  
AD, Found a letter. Couldn't understand it. When you see it, you'll understand why it's so urgent. Send me back an address. Recruited Fleur Delacour. --BW  
  
He folded the paper in his pocket and the one on which he had written into an envelope. He addressed it to Albus Dumbledore and told the owl so. Letting it off into the horizon, he turned back to Fleur.  
  
"We should get 'ack to work." Fleur said, giving Bill an uneasy smile.  
  
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Down in the dank vaults of Gringotts, Bill and Fleur sat in a mining car, Bill's leather jacket draped over Fleur's minute shoulders.  
  
"What's the vault number, Fleur?" Bill asked, lifting a lantern to see the current number.  
  
"Next one is number seven-hundred eleven." And with the soft, quavering voice the mine car zipped off, throwing Bill down against the back of the car. They arrived with a sudden stop at that certain vault number.  
  
"Here we are.." Bill said uneasily, hopping out of the car. He helped Fleur out of the car and she looked up to him with wide eyes.  
  
"Are 'oo scared?" She asked innocently.  
  
"Out of my wits. These mines creep me out." Was Bill's humble reply. He slowly opened the vault, only to see vast piles of gold and silver and brass. So much money was unimaginable. Bill felt his jaw drop, but Fleur saw it as if it was nothing. She looked to him with narrowed eyes.  
  
"Are you going to 'elp me or not? 'Zis is a 'eavy parcel." She said, referring to the long package beside her. As Bill fetched it, she strode in.  
  
"Quite 'eempressive." She commented, looking around, and then to the clipboard in her hands. "'Eet says 'ere that 'zis is Sirius Black's vault. I 'ad no idea the convict 'ad so much gold."  
  
"Black's vault?" Bill panted, dropping the package on the ground a few feet in. "I didn't know that either.  
  
"Dumbledore wanted 'oo deposit that." She said, pointing to what Bill had just dropped.  
  
"Wow. Really? That's odd." Bill said uneasily, wondering, himself why Dumbledore had deposited something in Black's vault instead of his own. He was quite a man, Dumbledore was. Completely unpredictable and full of mystery.  
  
"What 'ould Dumbledore want 'oo do with Black?" She asked, looking to Bill with wide eyes.  
  
"No, the question is if Black had all this money, why couldn't he bail himself out?"  
  
Fleur batted her eyelashes at Bill. "What 'ould 'appen eef we got stuck in 'ere?" Bill's ears went a bright shade of pink as Fleur came closer to him, with an innocent yet seductive look in her eyes.  
  
"Well, uhh.. Fleur, we'd stay here until someone comes down here again. But we aren't stuck, so that's not something we ought be worried about." He said rather nervously, heading for the circular door. Fleur followed, clinging to his arm.  
  
"'E could pretend tha' 'e 'ave been stuck 'ere." She said, looking up to him, her eyes bright and wide. They managed to get into the mine car before their lips had touched. But it was quite a while later until that certain trail car had emerged from the depths of London.  
  
Author's Note: Chapter Two is up. A little shorter then I'd have liked, but at least I'm giving it a little structure. Still dunno where to go with it. I'll find out before I start chapter three. Give me suggestions. Tell me what's wrong with it! I'll LOVE you. =OO Love, BH 


	3. Misunderstanding

It was a gloomy Thursday. The sky hung over London, and the clouds seemed to tickle the top of the buildings and seep into the lives of all of their inhabitants and linger about in the air.  
  
Meanwhile, everyone working at the Ministry of Magic thought it to be sunny and cloudless. Work had never been so dull for Cerasus Swamp. She was itching for the day to end, and to stop these constant translations from the Welsh district of the Ministry.  
  
She rubbed her eyes and looked up to the clock hanging against the whitewashed walls littered with posters. Nearly three o'clock. Only about two more hours left until she was out of that certain hellhole, and then thrust into a certain Order of the Phoenix obligation at five-thirty.  
  
She seeped back into the document, and dipped her quill into the black ink. She was as horrible as any Hogwart's student, stocking Sugar Quills whenever she could. She read dully: "And then I found a tea kettle that had been hexed to give whoever touched it a nasty case of boils on their hands and legs. I'll be at Mungo's for quite a while because of it. And it also made the tea smell like urine. That could have just been the Muggle's tea brand, though. I couldn't really tell."  
  
"Honestly," Murmured Cerasus, looking down to the letter in extreme disinterest. "What do these people really get by bewitching Muggle artifacts?"  
  
She slumped back in her chair like a fidgeting student awaiting the bell.  
  
"Thank-you for coming; I hope you enjoy your purchase. Come back soon." Came the dull, unenthusiastic male voice as he rung the purchases of a stout woman with a floral dress. Four twenty-five. Nearly five, when he'd be off.  
  
It wasn't very good that on his first day, Remus Lupin was already bored out of his wits at his new occupation—the sales clerk at a department store in Muggle London. He shared his position with a gum-chewing teenager with giant hoop earrings and a horrible weave and a middle-aged woman with crooked teeth and an unmistakable crush on Remus.  
  
He leaned against the counter, his nametag glimmering softly in the horrible fluorescent light and his leather shoes tapping against the linoleum-tiled floor.  
  
Another customer, an older man with bright white hair and thick glasses set a microwave and a bag of white tube socks. He ran them through the scanner and brought up the total.  
  
His eyes lingered to the clock. It was nearly four thirty-five. The minutes seemed to drip off of the clock like drops of water, sluggish and otherwise boring.  
  
A telltale crack shook the objects of the apartment flat belonging to a Miss Swamp. She had one half hour to primp herself for the Order meeting. Her apartment looked like that of any Muggle. It had electricity and household appliances. Being born into Muggle lifestyle, she still hadn't quite adapted to the Wizarding lifestyle.  
  
She flipped on the light switch and avidly stepped into the bathroom, shedding her clothes for a shower. It was a quick, cold shower, and she dressed quickly into a black skirt that flared out at the knee and a forest green sweater. She quickly braided her hair and topped off the outfit with a dark green top hat that fell over her head loosely.  
  
She looked herself over in the mirror before vanishing from her room in an instant.  
  
"Now, Fleur, I want you to memorize this and keep it in your mind no matter what." Bill Weasley said anxiously, holding onto Fleur's delicate pale hand, their fingers interlaced. He reached into the breast pocket of his leather jacket and handing her a small slip of paper.  
  
"Tu'elve—"Bill cut her off by pressing his finger to her lips and taking the paper from her hands.  
  
"You've got that memorized?" He asked softly, brushing some of Fleur's luminescent white hair off of her glowing face. She wore a summer dress, sleeveless and polka dotted in orange and red.  
  
"Yes. Now take me away, Bill." Fleur said as they approached the humble headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
An outraged French accent broke through the kitchen, silencing all immediately. They turned their heads to Bill, whose ears went a soft shade of pink and a frowning girl with delicate features and a summer dress.  
  
"I'd.. err.. like to introduce Fleur Delacour. She's going to be joining us." He nodded a bow, looking around, still quite embarrassed. Fleur had been outraged of the condition of the building. She would have thought that such an exclusive group of people with such great abilities and cause would have an equally impressive headquarters rather than a dilapidated, old, uninhabited building. Fleur gave an insincere smile and curtsied. All of the Order blinked and waved and then went back to their business. Bill and Fleur took two seats between Tonks and the Weasley twins.  
  
This went on for a while until Arthur Weasley had stood at the head of the table and cleared his throat.  
  
"Welcome, welcome. Dumbledore offers his best wishes, as he is unable to attend this meeting. My son, Bill, and his friend, Fleur, have intercepted a letter from the acclaimed Deatheater Lucious Malfoy to a certain Cerasus Swamp, a current Order member." He nodded to the magenta-haired witch beside Remus and Mundungus Fletcher. Her pale skin went a soft shade of pink. "It is determined that the contents of the letter are in a rough mix between French and Welsh save for the word 'werewolf.' So, Fleur, Miss Swamp, if you'd be so kind as to translate it." He nodded again to Cerasus and then to Fleur.  
  
"That's it?" Called one of the Weasley boys, though it was unknown which.  
  
"Yes," Mr. Weasley looked down at the letter from Dumbledore, and then back up to the table set before him. "Yes, I believe that's it. Cerasus, Fleur, come here please."  
  
Within seconds of Mr. Weasley's final words, loud cracks made the room shake deafeningly. Fleur got up from her seat and tucked it back in politely, as Cerasus merely got up and wandered over to him.  
  
"Well, Arthur? Do you have any reason to know why the fucking letter was addressed to me?" She asked, obviously annoyed.  
  
"You should be the one to tell us that, Miss Swamp." His face was solemn. Fleur just stood there.  
  
"You know me, Arthur. I've been in the damn Order ever since I met Remus. I trust you, and I expect that trust returned. You have to trust me that I have not the slightest idea why Lucious Malfoy would send me a letter. I've never even met the man, let alone owl him. What am I supposed to say to him?"  
  
Arthur blinked. "Well, for now, the trust is mutual. I can't help but be suspicious. We'll see later once you two find out what the letter means." Arthur handed each of them a copy of the letter. "Don't loose it."  
  
As Arthur left the now-empty kitchen, Cerasus turned to Fleur. "So, mademoiselle, what have we to do? I'll translate what words I can, and you do the same. We'll meet up sometime in the Leaky Cauldron to put it together. I think I'll have it by tomorrow evening."  
  
"Tomorrow evening?" Questioned Fleur, looking to her as if she hid madness underneath her top hat. "I have work to do. I ca'n't be sidetrack. What 'ould my boss say? Give me a week."  
  
"Look, hun. When you're in the Order, there are things more important than keeping your job. It won't take too long. You have to fit it in. I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at six o'clock tomorrow." She gave her a set of narrowed eyes and a skeptic frown. Fleur looked outraged, but before she could begin to yell and scream at this Swamp woman, she had apparated with a soft crack.  
  
"Cerasus Swamp." Said Fleur Delacour, looking quite angry. "You are late." Her bright red lips pursed as she looked above her to a woman balancing a few scrolls of paper and a suitcase, her magenta hair back in a messily and lazily done ponytail with green eyes glittering dangerously from behind black-rimmed lenses.  
  
"Fifteen minutes, you incompetent bitch." She spat, looking down as if she could wrap her hands around the French girl's delicate neck.  
  
"Have you f'eenished the translations?" She asked, concealing her face behind an issue of the Daily Prophet.  
  
"Of course." Cerasus replied simply, opening her briefcase and storing the scrolls inside with ease. She took out a folded piece of paper and smoothed it out upon the wooden table as best she could.  
  
"Then 'ow come you are late?"  
  
"Two words: Edgar Sherman. Wanted to know exactly where I was going. Told him I was catching up with a friend. Nosy bastard." She scowled.  
  
"Anyway, we must get too work, Cerasus Swamp." Fleur said, her eyes narrowing.  
  
They spent the next approximate forty-five minutes deciphering the letter, splicing the words and putting them into what was a rough depiction of what the letter could have possibly meant. Cerasus ran her eyes over the document, reading it.  
  
Miss Swamp,  
  
A pleasure it is to know that all this information we are getting is from a reliable source. I can't believe that they haven't suspected you before. You have that werewolf wrapped around your finger, don't you? Report back immediately with further news.  
  
Lucious Malfoy  
  
"Honestly. Who does that Malfoy man think he is? I've only seen him a couple times at work and then he goes and tries to set the whole Order on me." She whispered, obviously outraged. "Honestly." Repeated her agitated voice. "I hope no one believes this set of crap." She fell to the back of the chair, crossing her arms.  
  
"Not too believable." Commented Fleur, looking over the letter. "I mean, you aren't in contact with that man. Are you?"  
  
Author's Note: Yay. Finished with Chapter Three. One reviewer. Please read and review. (r&r looks more like rest and relaxation to me (:)  
  
To Bluejeans- -hits self with abnormally large pretzel rod- Sorry about the accent problem. Not around French people speaking English too much. Well, -cough- I'm never around 'em. I'll fix it in later chapters. =OO 


End file.
